


Coffin Varnish

by chiptease



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Angst, Detectives, FACE Family, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mobsters, psychopathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-03-23 03:12:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13778454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiptease/pseuds/chiptease
Summary: The FACE family as 1920s rich mobsters. Rated M for major character deaths and sexual implications.ON PERMANANT BREAKShips: Main focus of FrUK, GerIta, and RusAme, but also has one-sided PruCan.Eternal thanks to reneia, derevosky, vaecordia, tiniturtle, and stupendousgirl!





	1. Pickford

     The music pulsed through the room, the coarse slice of a trumpet shrill in the clubbers’ ears. The crash of symbols combined with the buzz of fruity alcohol was dizzying, the swing of the room pleasantly intoxicative. Blurs of colors streaked at the turn of a head - a swath of a black silk of a suit, or a fierce yellow of an extravagant drink topper might catch the eye of an attendee. On the makeshift stage, beautiful women arched and sank to the heavy pound of the song, scandalous strips of outfits fluttering in the air and pulled tight over curves. Two men sat front and center, one sipping on a honey lemon gin while the other idly warmed a white rum. The former clicked his tongue at the bitter taste of his drink.

     “I don’t quite understand how this deal would fully benefit the interests of my crew, Mister Kirkland,” he said airily, before raising the glass to his lips again. Kirkland thought for a moment before absentmindedly letting his hand drift to straighten his red tie.

     “Mister Raslo,” he began after a short pause, “this deal is almost tailor made for you. Not only are we offering you a huge surplus of money, but a closer connection to this family as a whole, which I assure you, you want.” He hesitated again, in thought, choosing his words carefully.

     “Three grand for a few guns is more than enough. We’re giving you a huge opportunity here, sir, and you would be a fool to pass it up.”

     Raslo’s eyes flashed at that, his lips tightening. “Watch it, Kirkland. I’m a client you can’t speak down to,” he snapped. He hummed before continuing. “My answer is no. This deal is rigged”

     Green eyes studied the mobster, sober and calculating, before he set his rum down on the table with a _clink_ , never having taken a sip. He raised his hand and gestured over a girl from the stage.

     “Evening, miss Posch,” he greeted when she arrived, with a small nod of his head. She giggled.

     “Arthur! It’s Clara, I won’t say it again.” She kissed his cheek. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you around these parts! You really should get out here more often.”

     Arthur’s eyes flickered over to his companion, who had gone quite red in the fact from both his alcohol and the gorgeous woman in front of him. He gave a small grin.

     “Clara, I would like to introduce you to a friend of mine,” he mused. He inclined his head to the older man. “This is Mister Raslo. I would appreciate if you took care of him tonight.”

     Raslo wrung his hands nervously under the table, having eyes only for the soft blonde curls and warm blue eyes studying him. He gave an awkward smile as she laughed again.

     “Nice to meet you, buttercup. Looking for some company?” She purred, lifting a leg over his lap as she straddled herself on his pristine white suit. Raslo’s eyes glazed with lust, seeming to compose himself, before taking a long drink from his gin and draining it. Another girl came around, taking the empty glass and replacing it with a new one. Arthur picked a piece of lint off of his sharp black pinstripe before speaking.

     “I deeply apologize for any offense I may have caused you, Mister Raslo,” he murmured, making his voice low but heard. Raslo didn’t even turn his head as Clara’s red lipstick smudged his jaw. “If you do not mind, I would like to request our deal to be put through.”

     Raslo’s brows furrowed in thought only for a moment before Clara twined daintily manicured nails through his hair and let her lips follow his neck. He sighed and placed a hand on her back before realizing he was still in conversation.

     “Yes,” he replied slowly, as if in a trance. “You’re a good man, Arthur.”

     Arthur finally allowed himself a chuckle at that, producing the contract from his coat pocket. “All I need you to do is sign here.”

     Raslo scribbled his name impatiently, obviously wanting to get back to Clara, before dropping it into Arthur’s waiting hands. Arthur stood and smiled graciously.

     “I’ll be in contact, Mister Raslo,” he said quietly, before slipping away from the writhing duo. He met another girl’s eyes and tilted his head to indicate where to go, and they both made their way to a quieter corner of the club.

     “This is for Clara,” he muttered, fishing out a fifty dollar bill and pressing it into her hands. He pulled a twenty out of his breast pocket and waved it in front of her. “And this is for you, Dorothy, in case I ever need you there.”

     She studied him for a moment reverently, before slowly taking the money. She opened her mouth for a few seconds, choosing the right words, before speaking.

     “Why is it that you never request us for yourself?” She finally said, slipping the twenty into her dress. Arthur only smiled and clasped his hands together as she continued. “You certainly have the money for it.”

     “I don’t exactly… prefer your kind of company,” he mused, and grinned knowingly. “Thank you as usual, ladies.”

     Dorothy looked him over once more before shaking her head and walking off. Arthur paused for a moment in thought. She was certainly the poster girl of sex - thick black hair framing bright red lips and large dark eyes, curvy body hugged by her tight silver flapper dress, going smoothly down to her beautiful brown legs. But all his life, Arthur had never felt that pull that drew so many of his clients off the edge of reason, never had the desire to plant his lips anywhere on her, save her cheek for greetings. 

     The doors of the secret room banged as they closed behind him.


	2. French 75

_ April 2, 1924 (present day) _

     As Arthur pulled his car up to their manor, he felt the wind tug at his hair and pulled his hat down in a futile attempt to fix it. The wind whipped over the bay, rippling the trees and grass as it howled. The manor seemed like an anchor in the wind, marble and brick solid in the middle of their beautiful Italian garden wavering in the wind. Rows of green hedges bent to the breeze, and Arthur groaned in dismay as he noticed their glittering french windows were open and the white curtains whipped out of them. He stormed up the cobblestone pathway past the gushing fountains and pink roses and was greeted by his bodyguard.   
     “Evening, sir,” The broad-chested man grunted as he opened the massive oak doors to let Arthur in. Arthur sighed and handed his coat and hat to the servant positioned on the other side.   
     “Ludwig. Elizabeta.” He nodded politely in greeting before storming down the glittering halls.

     Their white ceiling arched into frosted patterns and intricate carvings, exotic paintings of faraway lands rattling against their perches on the walls from the wind. He waved a gloved hand as he walked, indicating Elizabeta close the windows behind him. He pushed into the main room.   
     “Dad!”   
     Arthur sighed as his two sons stood to meet him. He smiled.   
     “He signed it.”   
     One of the men whooped in appreciation as the other stepped forward to clap him on the back. Arthur sighed irritably as he ran a hand through his youngest’s hair.    
     “Alfred, how many times have I told you-”   
     “Oh come on, buzzkill,” he whined, batting his father’s hand away. “It’s so nice out today!”   
     “It’s windy.”   
     “That’s what I told him,” the other sighed, taking his rounded spectacles off to polish them on his clean pressed shirt. “He gets some sort of thrill out of damaging our furniture.”   
     “Hey!” Alfred sniffed, shoving his brother lightly. “I never broke anything. Don’t pin everything on me.”

     “Our vase got knocked over - the blue one, in the kitchen.”   
     Arthur winced. “Francis is going to have a fit.”   
     Alfred shifted his weight to his other foot, laughing nervously. “Hey, if we get a replica in there before he notices, badda bing-”   
     “It’s a little late for that, Al,” Mathieu laughed, jutting his head to the hallway. “Papa just pulled up.”   
     Alfred’s face paled, and he ran nervous fingers through his short hair. “Hey, I think I’m gonna go take a bath. Long day.”   
     Mathieu rolled his eyes as his twin practically bolted from the room, heels clacking on the marble staircase. His blue eyes shifted back to Arthur. “Sir, do you need me to-”   
     Arthur waved his hand before his son even finished. “Not necessary. He signed the contract, and his corporation isn’t the kind to go back on a signature.” Arthur laced his fingers together. “You’ll be the first to know if they do, though.”   
     Mathieu laughed at that, tilting his head. “It’s not like I’m eager - hell, if there’s someone that’s eager to fucking murder someone, it’d be my brother.”

     “Watch your language.” Arthur frowned, before the doors opened again and another man pushed through the doors. His face shone in alarm.    
     “Goodness, were we robbed? The furniture’s a mess.”   
     Arthur smiled as he strode over to the frenchman. He kissed his stubbled jaw in greeting. “He signed.”   
     “Of course he signed, amour,” Francis murmured, smiling. “You were the one with him, after all.”   
     “I owe it all to Clara,” Arthur laughed. “She makes them forget where they are in a few seconds flat.” Francis turned to kiss him properly.   
     “Don’t downplay your abilities, darling,” he murmured against his nose. Mathieu sighed and turned to head upstairs. “Alfred broke your vase,” he called over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs.

* * *

 

     The table was lively with the murmur of chatter and the scraping of silverware on porcelain plates. No expense had been spared for this celebratory dinner - the table was laden thoroughly with rich foods and fine drinks. Butter poached lobster tail drenched in a cream sauce sat next to an Italian flank steak stuffed with garlic and herbs. Shrimp scampi was piled high on a silver platter, smothered with tang and taste, while a finely roasted chicken lay dripping with a lemon leek sauce behind it. Smeared cheeses, bunches of grapes, and fresh bread were passed around as the glass of the champagne drinks clinked in cheers. The small family sat contentedly chattering as the waiters kept bringing new delicacies for them to enjoy. Thick chocolate mousses, a towering lemon cake topped high with whipped cream and coconut, banana pudding, creme brûlées, a pineapple upside down cake all followed in order, lulling the men into a food induced sleepiness as they finished their cocktails and settled down for the night.

     As they contentedly reclined in their seats, Alfred pulled out a cigarette and struck a match. Arthur raised an eyebrow.

     “You know the rule about smoking in our house, Alfred,” he sighed. Alfred rolled his eyes.

     “Come on, dad, it’s a celebration.” He took a drag and spread his hands exasperatedly. “Can you let a boy  _ celebrate _ ?”

     “Out,” Arthur muttered tiredly, nodding to the balcony doors. Alfred grumbled as he stood, purposely taking a long exhale before blowing the smoke out, and went outside. Mathieu felt himself smile as he stood to follow him.

     The breeze on the balcony nipped his cheeks as he opened the door, and he allowed himself the pleasure of viewing the bay. While earlier it had been windy, now it had settled into a serene calm, the dark glass of the ocean reflecting the pale moon. It was too cloudy to see the stars, as if the world was at rest before having to return to its booming and beautiful livelihood. The twinkling city lights and little glows of the mansions lining the bay were the only other lights Mathieu could see aside from the smoothed disc in the sky. Alfred turned to greet him when he heard the click of his heels, sporting a sour expression.

     “What a time to be alive!” He whined, twirling the cigarette between his fingers. "It's not improper to have a smoke in my own home." He spat over the rail and passed the cigarette to Mathieu.   
     "He's right," his brother mused. Mathieu took a long drag before snuffing it out on the balcony, leaving a ring of ashes on the sleek surface of the marble. "Fire hazard, you know."

     Alfred smirked at that, giving him a fleeting side glance. Matthew repressed the urge to shiver again, feeling unsettled from the piercing intensity of his brother's eyes. Everything about the two screamed luxury - Matthew's golden hair that gently curled and wavered in the wind, cream skin and thick eyelashes so lovely and deceiving for the cunning poison that coursed through his veins with every flutter of his heart. And Alfred's tanned skin, paired with a blinding white flash of perfect teeth and the gently sloped manicure made him the match for the brother. Like two bishops of the chess set, they sat looking lovely so lovely in stature, ready to strike when given the command.

     “Are you not going out tonight?” Mathieu asked, feeling genuinely surprised. Alfred laughed and rubbed the back of his neck a little sheepishly.

     “Mm, the guys there haven’t really been fantastic recently,” he admitted, grimacing. He stood up a little straighter and looked at Mathieu with a jokingly hurt expression. “And what are you implying? That I whore myself out at every opportunity?”

     Mathieu snorted. “Yes, because I know my brother.” Alfred laughed and punched him lightly before leaning a head on his shoulder. His brother felt a twinge of something dark as he let himself pretend for a moment that Alfred meant the small gestures of affection, the soft words and light touches. But the unfortunate truth tainted the moment and made him shrug Alfred off.

     “Don’t practice on me,” he muttered, feeling the cool surface of the rail on his palm. Alfred shrugged nonchalantly. 

     “Why not, Mattie? You know how I really am.” He smiled and imitated his brother. “What’s the harm?”

     Mathieu stood at that, feeling a little nauseous. “I need to go to bed, I feel exhausted,” professed, both him and his brother knowing the lie was half hearted and neither caring. Alfred dipped his head in acknowledgement.

     That night in bed, the small tears never left Mathieu’s pillowcase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No translations.
> 
> Hint for next chapter:  
>  “He’s different from the other orphans,” she admitted slowly, taking a sip of lemonade as her painted red nails drummed the table. “He likes to pick on the children, and doesn’t ever seem to get happy or sad. He doesn’t like arts and crafts, or sports, and…” she trailed off, biting her glossed lip. When nothing more was said, Arthur twirled his finger, indicating that she continue. She looked to the side before speaking back up. “And we’ve found..."
> 
> See you next Friday!


	3. Tanqueray

_August 8, 1909 (15 years ago)_

   “There’s something you should know about the shorter one.”

   The caretaker woman’s face took on a more serious tone when she said this to the two men as they watched all of the children play in the yard. The pair looked to the one she was referring to - he had isolated himself by a bush, and seemed to be digging around in the dirt alone as the other kids giggled chased after each other. Arthur raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

   “He’s different from the other orphans,” she admitted slowly, taking a sip of lemonade as her painted red nails drummed the table. “He likes to pick on the children, and doesn’t ever seem to get happy or sad. He doesn’t like arts and crafts, or sports, and…” she trailed off, biting her glossed lip. When nothing more was said, Arthur twirled his finger, indicating that she continue. She looked to the side before speaking back up. “And we’ve found him a few times hurting himself.”

   Francis and Arthur exchanged confused looks at this. “Hurting himself?” Francis asked, leaning forward in his chair. She pursed her lips nervously.

   “One day he was slicing his leg with a pair of scissors,” she mumbled, watching as one of the other children found a stick and swung it playfully at another. “Another, he pressed his finger to the stove. There’s permanent scarring. Incidences like this with him are frequent.” Her hand shook a little, the ice clinking in the glass.

   “Has he said anything about it?” Arthur prompted, mildly mortified but wholly curious. She shook her head.

   “He always asked why we cared and why it bothered us,”  she said helplessly. “He’s been to our psychiatrist countless times, more than any other child before. They think it’s abandonment as a baby, but his parents deposited him here relatively healthy and without attachment, from what our records show. Children with his background act much more normal than he does. His brother Mathieu, for example.” The three looked over to him as he departed the group to run to his shorter twin. He ran in a circle around him, and then crouched down and threw his arms around his smaller frame. His brother didn’t reciprocate the loving touch, instead opting to shrug his brother off. When Mathieu tried to embrace him again, a look of irritation flashed across his face and he shoved him. The taller boy tumbled to the ground and scraped an arm on a rock, and started to wail. The woman sighed, standing.

   “Alfred!”  she snapped, striding over to him. Alfred looked up, expression blank. She put a hand on his shoulder as she started to scold him, but he frowned and ripped back from her touch to crouch back down and continue digging. Arthur turned to Francis as she moved over to Mathieu, wiping his cheeks and helping him stand up. Francis looked intrigued.

   “What a child,” he murmured, watching as Alfred grabbed a nearby twig to help him dislodge a root. His eyes flickered to Arthur. “What are you thinking, _mon amour_?”

   “I’m thinking we’ve found ourselves a winner,” he consented, a small smile creeping onto his face. Francis let out a bark of laughter.

   “You may very well to be the only one on this planet to think so,” he giggled, swirling the too-sweet drink in a glass between his fingers. “What gives?”

   “We need our successors for the Kirkland line, yes? His brother seems like a lovely candidate.” He watched as Francis draw out a cigar and cup his hands to light it. “Seems much more charismatic, controllable. But he looks to be more compassionate, too.” The soft glow of the match lit up Francis’s face in the fast-approaching dark. “Compassion doesn’t get heists done, Francis. Alfred doesn’t seem to be some violence machine, or else he likely would have seriously injured another kid. He seems much more self oriented.”

   “He cuts himself with a knife for enjoyment.”

   “He also doesn’t hesitate to harm other people, including his _brother_ , to get a job done. If we could groom him, make him see that following our orders equals success and pleasure…”

   Francis’s eyes twinkled in the light of his cigar. He grinned, as sickly sweet as the beverage in his hand. “I think you may be onto something, Arthur,” he lilted.

   “I reckon you’re right.”

* * *

 

   The next day, they were scheduled to meet the boys. Mathieu was the first to enter. He looked up at them and smiled shyly, looking down in embarrassment. He murmured a soft greeting.

   Arthur’s calloused fingers gently lifted his chin up, inspecting him. Francis hummed.

   “ _Bonjour, Mathieu_ ,” he greeted. Mathieu’s head turned upwards in surprise.

   “ _Vous parlez...?_ ”

   “ _Oui_ ,” Francis said, smiling a little. “Surprised?”

   “None of my friends talk like me,” Mathieu said, smiling. “My name is Mathieu.”

   Francis laughed a little as Mathieu stuck his hand out, and shook it gently. Arthur did the same.

   The three sat as Francis and Arthur asked him a few questions, and were pleased to see that Mathieu responded well. He seemed to be an intelligent child, but a little socially reserved. But Mathieu’s face dropped as soon as another nun entered the room, practically dragging Alfred along. He stood quickly, mumbled a quiet “thank-you” to the two men, and fled. The other child walked quickly, as if annoyed, to the center of the room.

   Alfred sat on a squat stool across from the two men. Arthur leaned forward, his arms digging into his thighs, and propped his head on his fists.

   “Tell me, Alfred,” he said curiously. “What is your favorite thing in your whole life?”

   Alfred rolled his eyes, already answering halfway through the question. “The other children and my brother,” he said in a monotone voice, as if he had said the stale and unfeeling phrase thousands of times over.

   “Don’t lie to me.”

   That caught Alfred’s attention. He peered at Arthur as if seeing him anew. He hesitated for a moment before continuing, looking to the door and back. “Are you a doctor?” he said quietly, as if timid of the question. Arthur shook his head and smiled.

   “I’m someone who wants to help you get out of here,” Arthur responded simply.

   Alfred was now staring at him raptly, as if he was the most important thing in the world. Arthur chuckled and leaned back, nodding his head. “Good. Now, what is your favorite thing in your whole life?”

   Alfred smiled. “The juice,” he said finally. “It tastes really good.”

   Francis laughed a little, and Arthur’s grin widened. It seemed as if he was right.

   “Do you ever feel sadness when you hurt one of your friends?”

   Alfred’s eyes flickered down to his hands and bored into them. A few moments of tense silence passed before he whispered. “Promise me you’re not one of them?”

   “We swear,” Francis murmured, bending forward. Alfred looked up, finally meeting Arthur’s vision. Arthur felt himself flinch a little, goosebumps running up his shoulders at the intensity of the blue he saw.

   “No.”

   “Guilt?”

   “No.”

   “Regret?”

   “Yeah,” Alfred mumbled. “They sometimes stop me to try to tell me not to do it again. It’s stupid.”

   Arthur reached out a finger to touch his cheek. Alfred didn’t respond, his eyes never leaving Arthur’s face. Arthur hummed.

   “What would you say,” Arthur began slowly as Francis looked over his shoulder to check for any evesdroppers. “If I told you you could have all the juice you’ve ever wanted if you come with us and hurt people when we tell you to?”

   Alfred stared at him blankly. “Are you joking, mister?”

   “No,” Arthur said, fingers brushing his hair out of his face. “I mean it.”

   Alfred chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. “I’d say that sounds good,” he breathed, hanging onto every small movement Arthur made.

   The englishman retracted his fingers and looked to Francis for confirmation. Francis was smiling widely and nodded slowly. Arthur turned back to the boy and spread his hands.

   “There’s a little more to it than that, I’m afraid,” he said, voice turned serious. “You would also have to pretend to be happy and sad, and say you don’t hurt people for us. And your brother would come with us, too.”

   Alfred frowned a little at that. “Would I still get the juice anytime I wanted?”

   “Not just the juice,” Arthur laughed. “We’d give you cookies, and cakes, and sweet things, too. You could even have pudding for breakfast if you wanted to.” Alfred’s face showed no expression, but he nodded. “I want to do that,” he said solemnly. Arthur clapped his hands and stood, Francis following suit.

   “Then you’ll be out of here before you know it,” Francis said with a sly smile. “As long as you promise not to tell any of them we said this to you.”

   “They don’t like the idea of you hurting people, see,” Arthur said. “They just want to make you like everyone else.”

   “I won’t,” Alfred promised hurriedly. “I won’t.”

   “We’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Francis said cheerfully, and tipped his hat. The two left him standing in the middle of the room.

   They signed the papers the very next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> “Bonjour, Mathieu,” = Hello, Mathieu,  
> “Vous parlez...?” = You speak...?  
> "Oui" = Yes
> 
> Hint for next chapter:  
> Arthur glanced at wristwatch, sheathed his gun, and slipped on his shirt. Francis was hurriedly combing through his hair, still damp from the shower. He smelled thickly of roses and lilies, the heavy stench coating his arms and neck. Arthur’s face wrinkled.  
> “He really likes that?” he muttered as he shrugged into his coat. Francis laughed, eyes never leaving the mirror as he straightened his tie.


	4. Late Upload

Hello, all!

I apologize for the delay of the next chapter of Coffin Varnish - it’s been a really crazy week for me. One will come next Friday, but for now, life had to come first.

Thanks again!


	5. Late Upload... the sequel

Hello again!

 

I am SUPER sorry about this, but I'm having to take another week off - spring break just began, so I promise the next chapter will be extra packed! Thank you all for the wonderful comments and support!!

Cheers


	6. Dubonnet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: contains sexual content (mildly explicit), violence.

_November 1, 1909 (20 years ago)_

Arthur glanced at wristwatch, sheathed his gun, and slipped on his shirt. Francis was hurriedly combing through his hair, still damp from the shower. He smelled thickly of roses and lilies, the heavy stench coating his arms and neck. Arthur’s face wrinkled.

“He really likes that?” he muttered as he shrugged into his coat. Francis laughed, eyes never leaving the mirror as he straightened his tie.

“This is tame in comparison to what else he likes, _ange_ ,” he said with a wink as he smoothed out his pant leg. “You should have seen when he requested me to dress more… on the feminine side.”

Arthur grimaced and stood up straighter, tucking his pistol into his coat and slipping it into its designated pocket. Francis caught his eye, and they both smiled.

“Ready?”  
“Yeah.”

* * *

 

“You feel so-”

Francis smiled against Yao’s neck, feeling the older man groan from the sultry contact. He brought his lips against his ear and licked the shell as Yao clutched his back and moved him.

“You know there’s a way to thank me, Yao,” he whispered sweetly as his leg slipped slightly from the sweat. Yao grinned as he felt Francis gasp at the cold metal of his belt grazing his thigh.

“It’s done,” he said as he threaded a hand through Francis’s hair. “I signed and shipped it off last night.”

Francis laughed delightedly and sighed blissfully at the light bite on his collarbone. He kissed his forehead.

“You promise me?” Francis asked softly,

“I swear it. I would never lie to you, Francis,” he grit out as his hold tightened on his back. “To have you like this… it’s priceless. I understand why Arthur is so protective.”

“It seems like he couldn’t keep a leash on me forever,” Francis giggled as he brought himself back down sharply, causing Yao to shiver. His eyes turned wicked. “But things are not always as they seem, _non_?”

Yao gave the man in his lap a puzzled look before a _bang_ echoed through the room. Yao toppled over into Francis’s arms, head oozing a dark red onto his white sheets. Arthur briskly strode from his spot in the other room, gun still smoking, and shot the mobster once more. His eyes shone pure and unsolicited joy.

“Francis.”

“I’m in his will,” Francis said abruptly, face splitting into a smile. “I had one of my men check it, just to be sure.”

“And how much-”

“$800,000.”*

Arthur laughed, and clutched his head. He sat down on the bed next to Francis, dropping his gun. Francis leaned over and grabbed the pistol. Arthur watched, confused, as he loaded a bullet, spun it, and raised the gun. He felt himself tense as Francis’s eyes met his for a moment. He realized that he was completely vulnerable. And the more he thought about it, it struck him that it would make more sense for only _one_ person to carry that kind of money instead of splitting it between the two of them. He held his breath as Francis raised his arm-

-and shot Yao’s corpse once more, splattering the blood on the bed. He dropped the empty gun and grabbed Arthur’s shoulders, yanking him into a tight hug.

“My God,” he whispered huskily into his ear. “We did it, Arthur.”

Arthur only froze for a moment more before he threw his arms around him, laughing into his shoulder as he let his tears flow into his warm skin. They held each other desperately as little sobs and gasps of relief resounded throughout the empty house, room otherwise silent save for the trickle of Yao’s blood. Arthur shook gently as Francis ran a hand over his head, smoothing his rough hair down to his ears. He kissed his cheek, his eyelids, his nose - any part of his face he could reach with his lips.

He wiped a tear from the englishman’s eyes, kissing his temple gently and feeling the throb there. He let his cheek rest on his forehead as they caught their breath.

“What do we do now?” Francis breathed hotly against his ear. Arthur shivered.

“We should dispose of his corpse,” Arthur murmured, kissing his neck. He heard Francis gasp a little before chuckling. He raised his lips to his jaw. “Invest in our business plan. Adopt some future upholders.” The skin behind Francis’s ear was soft.

Francis’s hands caught his head in place, carding through his hair. “That sounds marvellous,” he muttered breathlessly. “Partner.”

Arthur smiled against his neck. Oh, it did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In the 1920s, this equated to about 10.5 mil.
> 
> Translations:  
> Ange = Angel
> 
> Hint for next chapter:  
> "Your highball, sir."  
> Ivan's eyebrows furrowed, confused. "There was a mistake, I didn't-"  
> "Curtesy to the gentleman at the end of the bar," the man said, polishing a glass. Ivan glanced over, and met with stunning blue eyes.  
> His heart fluttered. Oh, was he beautiful.


	7. Temporary Break

Hello, all.

 

I've come to the decision recently that I would like to take a break on writing this for a few months, until school lets out. I want my writing to be as high of quality as I can provide, and right now, work's been overwhelming me. The last thing I want to do is to produce shitty content because I crammed the night before posting. It would suck for both you all and me.

 

I'm hoping to pick this up at around the end of May, start of June. And I'll do biweekly updates instead of just Friday, to make up for it. Sorry about that!

 

Thank you all for the incredible feedback and support, and I'm looking forward to seeing you then! <3


	8. Haitus (may or may not be permanent)

Hello there. Again.

 

I would firstly like to formally apologize for how much of a general mess this fic has been - I usually try to be as organized as I possibly can be with my works, but this just hit at a really chaotic time. 

 

Yeah... I had a lot of really big visions for this, and I was so excited to properly write it. The plot was looking fantastic, and there was a lot of support. But then, a ton of really unexpected and prominent things happened in my life that forced me to put this on the backburner until I had fallen out of not only writing for RusAme, but writing in general.

 

Now, I believe I'm at a proper place to pick my writing and hopefully RusAme back up, which I'm thrilled about! But I'm probably going to take it easy to start with - oneshots, and things like that. And this project is extremely daunting. So, as a result, it's going on hiatus. 

 

'May or may not be temporary' is there because I'm not sure how this will go in the future. I'd love to pick it back up once I'm more settled and back in the groove, of course, but I have a tendency to get bursts of passions for projects, that if merely dwelled upon, just sit there until they fade. So I can't promise I will pick it back up - but I can't definitely say I won't, either.

 

Again, I'm so sorry to those who became invested in this. I truly didn't expect life to throw me for this much of a loop recently, and I hope to see you all in my next writing piece.

 

Cheers

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to repost this, please give me credit and ask first in the comments. My writing tumblr is @dysaniacmood.


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